I decided that in lieu of coming up with any original content for this post (I’m planning to blow my wad on this week’s installment of the Usual Suspensions) I would repost Entropy’s story of his adventure at the Coors Convention.  Enjoy.  Playlist of last week’s Request Line is at the bottom.

The Coors Convention, or, How I Got A Police Cruiser Escort Home

by entropy

PART I

May, 1997, San Antonio TX.

My friend and I are wandering around the Riverwalk in San Antonio on a Friday afternoon, looking for something to do. This was when I actually was freelancing for a comic book company, so I didn’t have what you would call “work hours” or “money,” but we did what we could. We went to a Mexican place for lunch, ate cheap and drank a lot, then went to a downtown hotel with a roof pool and bar that was, well, lax with security and would serve us free drinks.

This Friday, security was on-site correcting that “lax” issue and we were turned away.

Back on the Riverwalk, part of it ends at the SA Convention Center, and as we wandered the river, we ended up there talking to the sound guys setting up for that night’s party. We asked him what the deal was, and he told us.

“Coors is in town for their regional sales convention, and tonight is the end of week party. Gonna be like three, four hundred people here drinkin and listening to our band (the band’s name is lost to Drunken history, but they were basically a local Los Lobos clone).”

We begged and pleaded for passes, tickets, any way we could to get into this thing because it sounded, well, free and full of booze, but were turned away. My buddy and I were left to find something else to do. That was buy $2 40s at a shitty bar and drink them trying to find a way into that party.

We walked back to the Convention Center, and now the police had begun their shift of maintaining security.

(Yes, this was the actual San Antonio PD, as will become apparent later)

My friend decided this was time to get away, as we were well on our way to at least public drunk, but I said fuck that, we were getting in there. I walked up to the officer on our side of the river and asked him what was going on, as he had no idea I was already in there once.

“Big sales convention. The guys are gonna be out in an hour or two, and we have to block it off.”

“Oh,” I said, “does this mean we aren’t allowed in?”

He pulls himself up to his full height, at about my mid-chest range, and puts both hands on his SAPD Utility Belt.

“Well, you’re not getting in past me, I can tell you that.”

My buddy started walking away but I grabbed his shirt.

“Hold on. Not getting *in* past you? Does that mean if you see us come out this way later, you won’t arrest us?”

He says, “Look, you come OUT this way, and I’ll leave you be. You try to come past me in the next few hours to get in, I gotta have you arrested.”

“OK,” I said, and walked off.

The Convention Center is accessible from street level, and there are LOTS of doors up there. There are only two that open into the Riverwalk atrium where the event was being held. So we walked up to the street level, and began trying doors wherever we could.

We found an open set and went inside, completely without authorisation or any god damn idea where we were going once we were in there. We found an open closet that contained a lot of janitorial equipment, and a pile of City of San Antonio Employee backbraces. I grabbed two and handed one to my friend as we went in search of a bathroom to hide out in for an hour or so.

PART 2

We put on the braces, and basically started bullshitting in the bathroom, occasionally checking the hallway for security (there was none, surprisingly) and seeing if the sales guys were let out into the atrium yet. By this point, the free food was being placed and we were STARVING.

Also, out of alcohol. Things were bleak.

I’d like to say a kindly janitor helped us out with weed or booze, but we literally saw no one that worked for the city in this place at all, and we just sat there waiting to blend in with the Coors people. Aafter an hour of boredom, they were set free, and we didn’t have to worry about missing them.

They were LOUD.

There were five hundred suit-wearing drunks on the warpath toward the free drink stands. We were in jeans and ripped, faded button down shirts, trying in vain to mask our trespassing with backbraces stolen from the city itself. so obviously we were doing some good thinking. My buddy said fuck it and hid the back brace under his shirt and I followed suit, and he asked me if we were doing this.

I replied by opening the door and joining the throng of people walking out into the sun.

I looked back and he was right behind me, just bouncing along without a care in the world.

We followed the crowd to the nearest beer stand, which was full of every Coors product, including a then new-to-me Blue Moon. I took one of those, Buddy takes one, and off we go.

Some strange looks started around this point, but everyone was drinking so fuck it, right? We pounded these beers and went back for more, expecting at any moment to be asked to leave. After about four beers down in a half hour, some older guy walks up and asks why we’re drinking so fast. We didn’t really listen and grabbed two MORE beers, and began pounding them.

He just laughed and said, “I’m not throwing you out. JUst chill or you won’t last the night, and there’s a surprise around 9 PM.”

9 PM?! That was THREE FUCKING HOURS AWAY. Since we figured we were safe now, we started slowing down on booze, and eating all the food we could find. Quesadillas, bacon-wrapped scallops, all manner of excellent appetizers… we were getting stuffed, and pretty well drunk, too.

After about two hours, the band starts up, and we wander over to the sound guy. He welcomes us up into the sound booth, is shocked we were allowed in, and when we tell him how we did it, he thinks we’re lying, so we break out the back braces. He is laughing his ass off and tells us to bring him some food and some beer, and off we go. Then he gives us lanyards just in case someone else gets pissed, but says to give them back before we leave.

We bring him back a plate overflowing with food, and those braces come in handy as we each stuff a six pack in them to carry back to our new sound guy friend.

PART 3

We hand back over the lanyards, because he asked us to, and we went back into the crowd. By now we’re minor celebrities, because we looked SO out of place, and everyone wants to be nearby when we are finally thrown out. It’s getting later, and we’ve tried every beer they had on offer, but we keep going. The salespeople are getting fucked up now, too, and soon no one thinks twice about the young kids in jeans who are obviously not supposed to be there, and just has fun.

9 PM rolls around, and suddenly these lights go off, and the band stops, and we figure that’s it, we’re doomed, when the stage fills with smoke. Out of the smoke come every beautiful Coors Light girl to ever grace a Texas bar, followed by one of the vice presidents of some such or other. He starts giving a speech as dozens of lovely women make their way through the crowd taking pictures with the sales guys.

About six of them come up to us as the speech ends, and the VP makes his way off the stage, and somehow he’s with us now.

He looks at us like we were scum, and asks, “Now just who in hell are you two?”

Before my friend can say anything, I just said, “We’re Johnson and Lee, we’re in procurement and consumption.”

This guy laughs so hard I don’t think he’d ever heard a fucking joke before (and that one was TERRIBLE), but he just waves us over to him, and corrals the six Coors girls nearby, and suddenly there is a photo of the two intruders with the VP and a bunch of swimsuit-clad Coors Light girls for the convention highlight reel.

Band starts back up, he claps us on the back and hands us cards and says, “You boys have fun,” then puts his arm around one of the girls as he wanders off. I didn’t see him take another picture with anyone, so I really, really hope that made it into some kind of end-of-year photo book with the Coors people.

It’s getting later, and the crowd is dispersing, and we can tell shit is winding down. I decide the best thing for us to do now is load up and get the fuck out. We hit up the most friendly of the beer stands, were we’d gotten the closed bottles earlier, and each fill our pockets and line our stomachs inside the back braces with beer. LOTS of beer. We had nearly two cases at this point, and as we headed for the exit, we clinked like we continually toasting our own brilliance.

I told my buddy to make sure we went out the right way, to make sure we couldn’t get arrested, and he followed. We saw the same officer as earlier, and I waved when we approached. He laughed and asked how the party was, if we had a good time, whatever. I said, drunk as fuck, “it was great, man, and the FOOD! Shit, did you get any food?”

He said no, so I said, “Hold on.”

AND I PROCEEDED TO EMPTY MY POCKETS AND BRACE ON THE GROUND. After I was empty, I told him I would be right back and left my friend with him.

I went back inside, and grabbed a plate and filled it with whatever food was left. I gave this guy enough for ten people, then, because I was drunk, refilled myself with beer and walked back out. I handed him the plate as my buddy looked at me nervously and started picking up bottles when the cop says, “how the hell are you idiots getting home? And where is home, anyway?”

Even I knew better than to say anything about driving , although we gave him our address, but drunk me just looked toward a parking garage and the officer sighed. He asks me what I’m driving, I tell him, and he asks where it’s parked. I gave him my best guess as to spot and level, but he just says, “wait at the exit until you see two squad cars on either side, then just drive between them until you get home.”

We talk for a few minutes, and he pulls out his radio and asks two units to meet my vehicle outside the convention center parking garage and give us an escort home. We shook his hand, gave him a few beers for his night, and walked to the car.

As we were walking up, we were getting really, REALLY nervous. My buddy says, “So, we’re going to jail if we drive, right?”

I am drunk and confident and stupid and say, “FUCK NO! We HELPED that man! He will help us back.”

Buddy just shakes his head and drinks a beer as we get to the car. Unloading took some time, and then we got in and drove down the ramp. I did pretty well for as fucked up as I was, but then again, I figured, POLICE ESCORT, so I’d be fine on the actual streets. We get down to the exit, pay our fee, and sure enough, there are two cops outside. One of them is standing outside his vehicle, and he walks up to my driver’s side window and I figure we’re fucked.

He just asks, “You entropy?”

I nod.

“Follow me, and don’t make us regret this. You sure you can drive? We’re gonna go FAST to get this over with.”

I nod again and we are off. As we head toward McCullough Ave, we maintain a nice, orderly pace… once we hit McCullough, though, the lights went on and we were OFF. I made it home in under ten minutes, and as we pulled into the apartment complex lot, the police followed us. My buddy’s GF was waiting, and she saw us with the PD escort and thought the worst. We get out, handshakes all around, and start unloading beer and she just shakes her head.

“NOW what the fuck did you do?”

I just told her she wouldn’t believe it if I told her, and asked if she’d like a beer, as we had about 50 of them. the cops laughed and drove off, and all my neighbors thought I was Important for about a day or two.

And that’s the convention story.

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lp_3rle6j24&list=PLM8nWenhx6H9XTEVcO5W-GDr7pCwc85_x&index=4